


A Visit From The Emperor

by tinycrown



Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Dubcon Kissing, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Torture, Wranduin Week 2020, emperor wrathion being a dickhead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinycrown/pseuds/tinycrown
Summary: “He wouldn’t hurt me. Not like this.”“But he did, didn’t he?"
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914304
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	A Visit From The Emperor

One moment he stood by his side, assumed loyalty without a fault. _‘I will never betray you again’,_ he said, with such confidence. _‘I remain at your side, for however long that shall be’._

Anduin believed him. He should have known better. 

Wrathion had always been a good liar. 

N’zoth’s influence had spread over Azeroth like a wildfire, consuming every last bit of sanity and thirsting for more. He had witnessed his people turn on each other, slain without a second thought. Blood and corpses lined the streets, and N’zoth’s pawns marched them up and down looking for those who hid. Stormwind became a violent skirmishing ground for bloodthirsty maniacs. 

Anduin had been taken before he even knew what was happening. 

Just as chaos broke out in the city, arms or tentacles- he couldn’t remember- snatched him from his frozen stupor right out on his balcony. The sound and nauseous pull of a portal threw him somewhere cold, and there were booming screams and shrieks that pounded into his mind the moment he hit the floor. 

He had become disoriented easily, with the loudness pulling him in so many directions- he hardly registered being moved and chained… His father would be disappointed. 

He didn’t even _fight back._

He laid there, suspended in his chains, and prayed to the Light to keep him strong. Though its response grew fainter and fainter each day, he held out hope. The torture would end soon, he was _sure_ of it. 

Anduin had survived before, he could survive again. In the end, that was all that was expected of a Wrynn. To survive. 

He wondered if anyone else had. 

No thought he held was safe from the loudness, they yelled and told him everyone he ever loved was _dead._ Endless horrific visions clouded his imagination without fail, his _dreams-_

Anduin did not like to sleep anymore. 

The worst of them all, when N’zoth granted him _good_ dreams… very rarely, he would fall into slumber… and everything would be normal. But it was the _better_ normal, a kind of normal he hoped for. He would wake, a bright boy- young and _free,_ with the thought that his reality was just a cruel nightmare, and none of the pain and anguish he had suffered the years that followed his development ever happened. His father would be there, a gentle smile and a soft greeting, maybe a joke about how he looked _far_ too happy for it being so early in the morning. 

But then he would awaken, his father’s voice lingering in the back of his mind- his vanished presence so warm and comforting… easily replaced by the cold, the darkness. By the sixth time it had tormented him, he knew what N’zoth was trying to tell him. 

Inside, he was just a scared little boy aching for the love of his family. 

He was _right._

Anduin wished for nothing more to wake up and realize he was just stuck in a dream. That he would walk into the Keep and find Velen in the gardens meditating, swatting at the birds occasionally. Genn and Mia sharing tea in the den while they discussed the adventures of their wayward daughter. But more than anything he just wanted to see his father, alive. Waiting with open arms. 

N’zoth tormented him with his own fantasies. 

His captor, the one he loved. Still loved. 

It wasn’t _fair._

Anduin looked up, his eyes half-lidded and heavy and easily slipping shut at the presence of sudden light in his pitch-black cell. His back twinged as he let his head hang, the weighted stomping of the dragon’s humanoid form growing louder and louder until his pointed shoes were visible through his bangs. 

He was waiting for Wrathion to say something- anything, even if it was his usual insult, or a sickeningly sweet croon that would have him mirroring some behavior that would remind Anduin of the past all over again. 

That appeared to be a running theme in his routine torture. 

He felt his chains jostle, and pain ran throughout his body. There was a warm hand pressing into his, holding it still. He felt the cuff release, and it dropped to his side like dead weight. Anduin grunted, letting some of his weight back onto his weak, wobbly legs. He felt blood dribble down his hand, dripping from his fingertips to the floor. The cuffs had worn his skin raw, on top of the bruises and cuts Wrathion and his disciples had so tersely placed upon him. His entire body was nearly black and blue.

Wrathion used to say that he wished he didn’t have so many scars. Not because they were ugly, which was his own argument, but because the testament of his pain and suffering was too much to bear as his friend. 

It was funny, now, that he was the one who caused them. Traced a knife through his skin like he was creating _art_ through _agony._

The other cuff came free, and he dropped like a ragdoll to the cold, smooth floor. His searing forehead touched the ground, and he sighed. A raging fever had taken his body, what with so many open cuts and gashes, infection was bound to happen- and the void loved to inflict pain. Luckily he was still lucid enough to understand what was going on, but the constant in-and-out of sleep had given him more than a few… unpleasant hallucinations. 

He took a few deep breaths, attempting to push himself up as the dragon knelt down. A clawed fingertip tapped under his chin, forcing his head up. Wrathion’s bright eyes were always the first thing that he noticed. He used to be so completely captivated by his deep ruby gaze, and now… it only brought fear and sorrow into his heart. 

“You are shaking,” he spoke, his voice a rumbly growl, lower than he remembered. He chuckled, a wicked smile curling his lips. The glint of sharp fangs poked through his grin. “I have not even _started_ yet, and you are afraid…” 

“I have always been afraid of you.” He sucked in a breath as his claws dug into his skin, clutching his jaw tightly. His gaunt cheeks began to bleed easily, a tormented whimper grating against his dry throat. He ached to reach out and strike him, to get _away._ But he wasn’t strong enough. 

“Really?” Wrathion chirped, pleased. He let go of his face, straining his neck to keep his head up. He stood, a wall of muscle and darkness as he circled the frail, trembling king. He let his head hang as greasy strands fell around his shoulders again. “Then, tell me, _dearest,”_ Anduin shuddered, his eyes growing wet. “Why have you not _broken_ yet?” There was a sharp tug on the back of his head, his large hand holding a fistful of his hair as he looked down on him from above. Anduin grit his teeth, steeling his resolve as the dragon let out an annoyed huff and threw his head back down. 

“I love Wrathion _more_ than I fear you.” He ground out, bracing his elbows against hard, unforgiving stones. His muscles protested the movement of his weak, injured limbs, but he forced himself to stand anyway. Anduin stumbled, hardly able to keep himself up, and fell forward. He was caught in warm arms. 

_Comfort._

He frowned when they wrapped tight around his waist, trapping him against his solid chest. Anduin would have found it comforting, if this hadn’t been the man who had been torturing him for Light knows how long, wearing the face of someone he cared about. 

“My dear, you naive, little thing…” His face drew closer and Anduin turned away, feeling his lips press against his temple. His breathing drew close to his ear, and the sudden baritone of his voice so close to him made him jump. _“I am Wrathion.”_

“He wouldn’t hurt me. Not like this.” He pushed against his chest, leaning away. Warm lips pressed against his forehead and held him close. He longed to give in and sink into his arms, throw away his thoughts. He knew that this was the real Wrathion. Physically, yes. But… It just couldn’t be _him._ The real Wrathion was in there somewhere. 

“But he did, didn’t he?” He said gently, cupping the back of Anduin’s head and tucking him under his chin. _“I_ did.” He felt his eyes grow hot and tears spill over, his shoulders shaking. 

He was right.

He was right, and Anduin hated it. 

“I love you,” Wrathion spoke pointedly, as if it were no big deal. “I want you to stand by my side in _power,_ and yet you resist. “ 

He wanted to say something, something that would anger him. Cause him to lash out, _prove_ to him that he was _not_ his Wrathion. But he couldn’t form words, his sobs strong enough to paralyze his body as he leaned fully into the dragon. 

Wrathion suddenly pushed him away, ignoring his cry of pain as he hit the floor like a rock. Anduin curled up, pressing his cheek into the stone as he stood over him. A symbol of his stature. That Anduin was weak, and would always be _weak._

“You could have been mine,” Wrathion stressed, his fists clenched so hard blood dripped down his thumbs as his own claws punctured his palms. “But you remain _his._ He is gone. I am all that remains.” 

He left, the cell cold and dark as the whispers came back to taunt him, the visions came to torment him. He could see Wrathion’s handsome, uncorrupted face in his dreams. Smiling, snarky, always around. Always talking. 

Anduin could almost imagine the Emperor’s raging warmth wrapped around him as kind and loving. 

Almost. 

**Author's Note:**

> :0 wrote this in between class and advisory


End file.
